Page 36 of Anyone But the Superstar

His nostrils flare, and I can’t tell if it’s from annoyance or amusement.

‘What do you say?’ Taking a chance, I stick my arm across the counter. ‘Deal?’

10

LIZ

I am not expecting the condo to smell so delicious when I open my bedroom door at five in the morning.

But it does.

I also didn’t expect my new roommate to be awake, but as the guest bedroom/office door is open beside mine, I’m guessing the Hollywood interloper is taking his chef duties more seriously than I’d intended.

Either that or his bed, aka the guest room futon, wasn’t very conducive to a Hollywood A-lister’s sleep.

But just in case I’m wrong and Felixissleeping, I hook my messenger bag on my shoulder and tiptoe past his door like a ninja.

Unlike a ninja, I’m thrown off balance by a cantankerous pussy sprinting past me. My bag, heavy with my work tablet and cat treats, swings forward, casting me into the wall with a thud that causes the framed picture of a baby cow to tilt on its hook.

As Mikey bounds out of sight, I brace for a scream. Or a whimper. Or whatever it is that a person suffering from tabby-catPTSD does when greeted by Mike Hunt first thing in the morning.

Strangely, I hear nothing but the soft hiss of cooking as I straighten the odd choice of wall decor.

Re-hefting my bag, I quick-step the rest of the way down the hall, only to come to a stop at the sight that greets me.

My roommate is naked.

Nearly naked.

Ignoring the thread of disappointment at the sight of Felix’s low-slung shorts, I let my bag slide off my shoulder as I stare at his exposed back, shoulders and biceps. I point at Mike, who’s sitting on his haunches next to me at the mouth of the hallway, and whose expression I’m worried mirrors my own. ‘Behave.’

The cat gives me side-eye.

We both know I wasn’t talking to him.

Hearing me, Felix turns, spatula in hand. ‘Morning.’

‘Morning.’ I fake a yawn, surreptitiously checking for drool. ‘You didn’t have to get up this morning. I can make myself breakfast or grab something from the catering table later.’

He shrugs, the movement doing things to his abs. Tantalizing things. Things I want to feel with my hands.

Things Ihavefelt with my hands.

Unaware of my pervy thoughts, Felix continues to move fluidly in the kitchen. ‘I’m used to waking up early. I work out in the mornings.’

His bicep muscles flex as he opens the refrigerator door.Yeah you do.

The bastard’s lips twitch.

‘Ah, yes. I see.’ In an attempt to reset my brain, I pick up Mikey, using him as a human shield before walking over to my new designated spot – the island stool positioned across from thecooktop where Felix earns his keep. ‘I usually work out in the morning too.’ When I’m not having to go to NASA before the sun rises, that is.

My next yawn isn’t faked.

Felix grabs two plates from the cabinet behind him and sets them on the counter in front and beside me before plating the food.

Sautéed bell peppers and scrambled eggs on toast, topped with a side of fruit.

It’s all stuff from my grocery order, but cooked.

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